CHAPTER 19WORK IN THE FIELDSIn the corrective labor camp only the extremely sick and Group I disabled were exempt
from work. A Group I disabled is incapable of looking after herself, unable to hold a
spoon to feed herself. There was in camp #17-A a young woman who had to be spoonfed by her
co-religionists. She was suffering from a heart valve disorder, but Group I status was not
granted her because the administration wanted her to have an operation. She refused the
operation because as a Jehovah's Witness she could not accept blood transfusions. She had
Group 11 status, even though in this particular case her official status did not
matter,
she was bedridden. Rarely could she leave her bed for more than a short while. Four women
carefully put her on a blanket and, holding the corners, carried her to the door of the
bathhouse.

Over half the women in camp #17-A were Group II disabled because of
age, not sickness.
They stoked the furnaces with coal or worked in the bathhouse. Those whose legs were
affected and could not move without help worked in bed. They knotted nets from yarn and
string. These old and sickly women made net shopping bags which the camp administration
sold to stores. Some of the older women without relatives were happy to learn this new
craft, with which they could support themselves after leaving camp.

The greedy camp administration decided that the old women could also tie woolen rugs
and thus increase the camp's profit. Finally the idea had to be given up since none of the
women possessed enough strength.

The Group III disabled had various chronic and acute diseases which limited their
capacity for work. I was a Group III disabled because of stomach ulcers. Invalids in this
category were taken under armed guard to the fields to perform varied tasks, depending on
the season. In the spring cabbages had to be planted. Seedlings were grown under glass in
the camp. Eaten every day of the year, cabbages are the staple food in prisons. Even
though the prisoners grow, harvest, and preserve the cabbages, the state charges for
them.

The cabbage fields were enormous. The portion of the field to be worked on a particular
day was marked with wooden signs saying "No entry. Forbidden zone." Every
morning before going to the fields, the prisoners lined up by the gates to allow the
female guard to check underneath their black uniform dresses for colored
clothing. This
was to prevent escapes, since black clothing identified them as prisoners. The prisoners
were then counted and their identity cards collected. Every prisoner, including the
bedridden, has a special card with a photo, giving her name, length of sentence, and the
paragraph under which the sentence has been passed. These cards allow the administration
to know where every prisoner is at any moment. Before the gates opened, a guard said
"morning prayers," that is, gave orders to march in closed columns, to obey all
commands, not to converse, not to leave the column. Prisoners disobeying would he shot
without warning.

Then, slowly the column started to move. Those who had trouble walking were placed in
front to ensure that there would be no stragglers and that the column moved in an orderly
fashion. The village through which we passed every day had no discernable road, only dark
gray sand without a blade of grass, not even a dandelion. The lack of greenery looked
unnatural, however it resulted from the collective scratching of the villagers' hens and
pigs.

On the way to work the column moved slowly to shorten the actual working
period.
Returning from work, these same women who in the morning barely dragged themselves
along,
marched with such a lively step that one wondered where all this energy came
from. On
reaching the field, the prisoners squatted on the ground till the warning signs were in
place. Then two of the stronger women carried a little wooden latrine shed to the middle
of the field where a third one dug a hole. A wooden cask of drinking water was brought to
the field in a horse drawn wagon. Bread, a mug, and spoon were brought along by the
prisoners themselves. One was also allowed to bring salt.

Planting cabbages was not difficult. One woman would walk ahead digging holes with a
spade while another placed the seedlings in the holes. The seedlings were carried to the
fields in nursery boxes and left on the edge of the field. The hardest task was watering
since water had to he carried from the river in pails. Although the river adjoined one
side of the field, the other side of the field was a long way off. The watering was done
in shifts.

Lunch, such as it was, was brought to the fields in large metal
containers. Sitting on
the ground to eat was fine when it wasn't raining and the soil was dry. However, fights
broke out when the guards ordered the prisoners to sit in the mud. During rain, dark water
from the wet hems of the women's black dresses ran down their bare legs coloring them
black. Only during prolonged rainy periods did work in the fields cease.

Once it rained for a whole week. Since the soil of Mordovia is mostly clay and could
not absorb all that water, little lakes formed in the low lying areas and remained for
several days. Some of the roads on which we walked to work were flooded. The women holding
their dresses high, looking like ostriches, slowly moving through the water, presented a
strange sight. The cold water reached to the knees or higher on the bare footed
women, but
the guards wore high rubber boots. In one place the water was so deep that the women were
ferried across by tractor, and later, when the water subsided a little, by horse-drawn
wagon. Several fields of cabbages were also flooded and in the sky-blue water the heads of
the cabbages looked like tiny islands arranged in neat and orderly rows.

Much of the summer was spent thinning and weeding
sugarbeets. Sugarbeet tops were our
best meal, far tastier than sauerkraut soup. We carried the tops back to the camp zone as
well. Sometimes we were allowed to carry the tops into camp and sometimes not, in which
case they were left to wilt on the ground by the camp gate. The recipe for cooking
sugarbeet tops was simple; the tops were rinsed, torn into pieces, and sprinkled with
salt. Hot water was poured over the tops and bread-crumbs stirred into the resulting
broth, to produce a meal fit for the gods.

Once I worked for a few days thinning red beets. Like most
beginners, I pulled out
weeds and smaller plants, leaving the larger ones to grow. The more experienced women
taught me to pull the larger ones and leave the little ones. Working with the red beets
provided a daily feast of at least ten beets the size of radishes. We also ate the beet
tops and tried to bring them back for friends in the camp.

A successful propaganda campaign against us women prisoners had been carried out in the
criminal men's camp where our food was cooked. Often we met these men, escorted by guards
and dogs, as they walked to work in the fields. The men's eyes expressed hatred. They
swore at us, adding to every filthy swear word that beloved Russian adjective
"fascist." Sometimes we walked close to the black-clad males who became
especially aggressive, throwing lumps of dried clay. On those occasions the guards looked
away, pretending to see nothing. Only the dogs barked in confusion. Considering the fact
that Russian males have an inordinate interest in women and seek desparately to talk to
any women around, the men's behavior proved that they had been told unimaginably horrible
things about us.

Only two young male convicts were not hostile. They were
trustees, unguarded, who drove
wagons transporting various necessities, including our drinking water. Trustees are
criminals not convicted of serious theft, rape, or similar offences; usually trustees have
been convicted for non-payment of alimony, disturbing the peace, vandalism, or other petty
crimes.

One of the men, Kolya, had drawn a two year sentence for fighting in a public
place, in
front of a restaurant. He was in the restaurant with a girl whom two other males also
found attractive. The two strangers grabbed at the girl. Kolya beat up both of her
unwelcome admirers.

Kolya brought us our tools and our luncheon soup. Sometimes he secretly threw down a
handful of green onion tops which he gathered to make our soup more palatable. On those
occasions he winked so we would know in which direction to look for this
delicacy. Kolya
was not allowed to talk to us.

Nevertheless he sometimes drove his cart near enough that we could exchange a few
words. Once his horse appeared out of control close to me. Scared of the horse, I jumped
away noticing at the same time something falling off the cart. Everyone, even the
guards,
watched the horse while I saw two cucumbers and a bunch of green onions. Not knowing how I
deserved this kindness, my joy was indescribable. Nevertheless my first thought was
"who is on guard duty tonight?" because I now faced the problem of getting at
least one cucumber into the camp to she with someone else. Giving provides joy. In a place
visited by joy only rarely, all opportunities to give must to be seized with
alacrity. I
decided to smuggle only one cucumber into camp. While continuing to work, I turned my back
on the guards and swiftly and unobtrusively consumed one of my precious
cucumbers. To look
for salt would have made me too conspicuous.

During the working day my cucumber and onion tops remained hidden in a little heap of
weeds and beet tops. Shortly before leaving for the camp I knelt and gathered up my hidden
goodies. I hid the cucumber in the front of my dress. That evening because there was a
fairly decent guard on duty, I hoped that I would not be searched down to my
skin. I
placed the onion tops on my sleeve which I rolled up. Nothing showed, and I felt confident
of getting them into camp. I openly carried the beet tops in my hand. Arriving at the camp
we lined up in fours, waiting for the guards to check us in. There was no serious
search,
the guards merely looked into our food satchels, counted us, opened the gate and let us
in. My smuggling operation was successful!

All able-bodied women worked in the clothing factory and had no opportunities to
acquire fresh food to alleviate the monotony of cabbage soup and porridge. Thus my fresh
cucumber brought great enthusiasm and even greater amazement because everyone knew
cucumbers did not grow in the beet fields. I gave the cucumber to Zelma who gave half to
another friend. The onion tops I divided among three people, who probably divided them
again, down to one stalk per person. Since beet tops were easy to obtain we handed them
out right and left. This was our way to store up vitamins for the winter when there was no
fresh food of any kind available.

Some prisoners received money from home with which they ordered Soviet newspapers and
magazines which contained mostly communist propaganda. No matter how much money a prisoner
had, there were no opportunities to buy a fresh apple or even a single lettuce
leaf. Had
the prisoners been allowed to keep their money, they might have bribed the guards to bring
vegetables into camp from the village store. However the money was kept by the camp
cashier.

Judging by conversations among the guards the village store stocked little besides
liquor. When we walked to work through the center of the village we could see what the
villagers bought in the store. Cotton net shopping bags are universally used throughout
Russia. Except for Moscow and other large cities, nothing is wrapped in Russia. Unwashed
potatoes are thrown together with bread and other baked goods, while salt herrings are
simply carried in one's hand.

Once an open potato wagon stood by the village store. The guards did not notice it in
time to take the women across the street. The women in our camp were not thieves, most of
them were deeply religious. Nevertheless every one fell on the wagon and grabbed at least
two potatoes. The guards threatened to shoot, but without an official order they
couldn't.
The Imprisoned women knew that survival depends on learning how to feed
themselves. The
shouts of the guards were no more effective than the yapping of puppies. When a guard
raised his voice and started to abuse the prisoners, the women yelled back. It was useless
trying to scare those who have been threatened for years.

For a whole week we hoed the onion fields. This was an extremely pleasant job for
various reasons. To begin with, the road to the onion fields led past fields of
carrots.
The guards' shouts and threats were ignored as every woman leaped into the carrot field to
pull out as many carrots as possible. In the onion fields we ate as many onions as we
wanted, and hid the onion tops in our clothing. The main challenge was to smuggle whole
onions into the camp for friends. A teacher from Lithuania was especially clever in this
maneuver. For several days she carried onions into camp for those who needed them
most.
But the day arrived when her smuggling was discovered. To everyone's surprise the female
guard went straight to the teacher and pulled onions from her hair, one after the
other,
six in all. We wondered how the guard discovered the onions so easily. Perhaps one of the
prisoners observed the teacher removing the onions and, resentful that none was offered to
her, betrayed the teacher.

To prolong the feast of the onions everyone worked as slowly as
possible. The fields
were cared for with extreme love, so that even the tiniest weed did not escape. The work
norms in the fields were so unrealistic that even with the best effort we could never
fulfill them. Thus we didn't try and consequently never received pay. Our recompense was
what we could eat and bring into camp; the sunshine and fresh air were treasures by
themselves. Even though the field workers were invalids we actually looked
healthier,
bronzed by the sun and wind, than those who spent long days at their sewing machines in
the clothing factory.

Our greatest pay for the summer's work came at fall
harvest. In the spring any green
shoot by the roadside was valuable, while in the summer the sugarbeet tops were
treasured.
By the fall the beet tips lost their value. Cucumbers were harvested first. They were
delicious eaten in the fields, and were nearly impossible to smuggle into camp. The guards
asked the escorting soldiers where we had worked that day. If we worked with
sugarbeets,
the guards did not bother to search us, but if we worked with onions, cucumbers, or other
valuable vegetables, the search was thorough. One way to frustrate the search was to wrap
a small cucumber in a handkerchief and hold it in one's hand. During the search one raised
one's arms, still holding the cucumber, and the guard ran her hands over one's body
without finding anything.

Kolya transported the harvested cucumbers to the village store where the camp guards
and administrators bought them by the sackful. The cucumbers were pickled and eaten until
the following spring. There isn't a Russian village home that does not have row upon row
of wooden casks containing pickled cucumbers and sauerkraut. Cucumbers and cabbages are
grown near every camp. While the prisoners are fed cabbage every day of the year, they are
never given any cucumbers.

The heads of cabbages grow enormous in Russia, especially since there are no
pests, not
even a single cabbage moth. Usually the cabbages are sliced with a special cutter and
salted in a medium-size wooden cask. A few chopped carrots or cranberries are
added. For
prisoner consumption the cabbages are chopped with an ax, like firewood. The pieces are
thrown into an enormous vat buried in the ground. The heavier women, wearing special long
rubber boots, sprinkle salt on the cabbages and stomp them down. It is Impossible to clean
the huge vat properly. The remains of the past year's sauerkraut lends a had taste to the
sauerkraut in winter, but in autumn nobody worries about it.

The greatest feast was harvesting the potatoes. The potato fields were large and the
harvesting usually lasted three weeks. Potatoes could be eaten raw, after cleaning them
with a piece of glass and adding a little salt. Some guards allowed us to build a
fire,
and then we baked the potatoes. Smuggling the potatoes into the camp, however, remained a
problem. During the potato harvest the searches at the camp gates were especially
stringent. Once a woman imprisoned for religious offences was found with a whole
stockingful of potatoes tied underneath her dress. Her potatoes were confiscated and she
was punished toy having to sort rags in the clothing factory several days.

Other women baked the potatoes, peeled and mashed them into their drinking mug which
every field worker carried. Usually the mugs were not confiscated. Only when the guard was
feeling especially ornery would she throw the white mashed potatoes into the dark
soil,
thus demonstrating her power.

While the rest of the harvest was counted by the
sackful, potatoes were weighed by the
bushel basket. Every full basket contained ten kilograms of potatoes, and everyday I stood
on the platform of a heavy truck hauling up and emptying about one thousand baskets of
potatoes. During the potato harvest everyone went to the fields to eat, even if they could
hardly work. Thus the amount of work varied: Some picked a great many baskets while some
barely gathered ten during the day. There were rest periods while the potatoes were
trucked to sorting sheds.

On one occasion I carried watercolors and paper to the field. When fall cast a golden
glow over the landscape the desire to paint was irresistable. There were woods on two
sides of the potato field. Between the field and the woods were narrow strips of meadow on
which several dozen haystacks stood. The haystacks belonged to the families of the guards,
each of which kept a cow. These haystacks, lit by the afternoon sun were lovely. Behind
the haystacks was a thick grove of young, dark green spruce, among which the yellow tops
of a few birches stood out. In front of the spruce grew white birch trees, and the
haystacks were surrounded 6y a fence of thin white birch saplings. A rich and beautiful
autumnal landscape.

The rest periods weren't long, and my watercolor was finished in about twenty minutes.
The truck returned as I was adding the last shadows to the foot of the haystacks. I put my
colors and the still-wet painting on the grass to dry and returned to my job. When the
evening came and I was too exhausted to continue lifting the baskets, the guards allowed
another woman to help me. This day, a jeep arrived out of which stepped the commander of
the guard of all the nearby camps, the chief of operations and two other officers. Such a
procession was never seen before and work slowed down considerably.

Our escort that day was Yuri Kashirski and a soldier from the regular Army. Kashirski
spoke to the officers. He pointed to me. Every officer looked in my direction and I
strained to hear what Kashirski was saying: " ... she fixed this area with absolute
precision and I therefore considered it my duty to report it. Imagine the consequences if
a plan of this strategically important object was secretly conveyed to the Pentagon!"

The officers approached and asked to see what I drew that day. Greatly puzzled I came
down from the truck platform, went to the edge of the field, picked up my now-dry
watercolor which I handed to the chief of operations. He looked at it casually and
demanded to see the other drawings I made that day. I explained that this was the only
one. The officers took another look at the watercolor of the seven haystacks, five
birches, and a grove of spruces. Of course the chief of operations, convinced that I was
hiding something, did not believe me.

He called Kashirski and asked him: "What did that drawing look like?"
stressing the word "that." Kashirski looked at me with his only good eye, and
said fawningly that this was it. The boss took the drawing nearer to Kashirski and asked
him to take another look. Again Kashirski confirmed that this was the only painting I made
that afternoon. "But this is just an ordinary landscape," said one of the
officers. Kashirski tried to explain that it wasn't ordinary at all: the barracks housing
the soldiers doing guard duty were near, while behind the village were three large prison
zones, and on the other side of the woods were the kennels where guard dogs were bred. The
painting would allow the Pentagon to ascertain the exact location of these strategically
important objects. I suppressed laughter as it occurred to me that maybe Kashirski,
suffering from heat stroke, lost his wits.

The chief of operations curtly stated that he saw n such thing in the drawing, returned
it to me, exchanged glances with the other officers and marched back to the jeep. When
they in the jeep, everyone laughed. Obviously one of officers said something sarcastic
about Kashirski. Then sped toward the village center, leaving a cloud of gray dust behind.
It was time to stop work. Quickly we emptied the last baskets of potatoes, gathered the
food satchels with our spoons and mugs, formed a column and walked back to camp. Kashirski
slunk along at the rear of the column like a dog with his tail between his legs.

That incident was talked about for days in the camp. Every prisoner wanted a good look
at the "strategically important" watercolor. The watercolor became so popular
that later in the winter I made an oil painting of it which I hung up. The story spread in
the village also. Several female guards, laughing at Kashirski, pointed out their own
haystacks in the painting and named the owners of the other haystacks.

After the harvest, the potatoes were sorted. The camps contracted to deliver a portion
of the harvest to the state. The large potatoes were stored in huge cellars, the small
ones, used to feed the prisoners, were covered with straw and soil. Even the invalids in
Group II who could barely walk the kilometer to the sorting sheds volunteered. Everyone
longed to taste a potato which never appeared in its natural state on the camp menu. Nor
the stronger women, sorting the potatoes was fairly heavy work. The sorted potatoes were
put in- large wooden chests, each holding one hundred kilograms. The instructions
specified that two people should carry the chest to the storage bins. However because
invalids could not manage, four carried each chest by the handles. When the potato level
rose in the bins to the height of a man, lifting a hundred kilos of potatoes plus the ten
kilogram chest was difficult. However working with the potatoes was enjoyable.

Not only people, but the village pigs enjoyed the potato harvest as well. One day a sow
with her two piglets arrived at the sorting sheds. The piglets were petted and their backs
scratched. When o e of the older women lay down on her side to rest during a lunch break,
a piglet contentedly cuddled up against her stomach. The woman looked happy because she
was the one chosen by the piglet as its "mama."

After the potatoes, the carrots were harvested. Even though everyone worked as slowly
as possible because the carrot fields were small, the harvesting was finished in a few
days. In order to smuggle the carrots into the camp, we grated them into our drinking
mugs. The graters were made from the lid of a tin can in which holes were punched with a
nail. The graters passed from hand to hand so that everybody could grate a few carrots
into her mug.

Last to be harvested we sugarbeets and the beets used as cattle feed. The cattle feed
beets tasted good if eaten with salt and bread. The sugarbeets weren't tasty, and we only
ate their tops.

Work in the fields lasted for six months, from May until November. When the harvest was
in, my half-year's earnings amounted to twenty-three tiny onions. I put them in a stocking
under my bed so that during a casual inspection it could not be seen. The onion were the
only supplement to the meager prison fare during the winter months, not only for me but
for my friends who had nothing.